In the Company of Men
by uberswell
Summary: There's a new valet in town, and his presence upsets things with Thomas and Jimmy in ways neither expect. Set after CS. Ratings for eventual eventualities. Right now it is tame.
1. Prolouge

Inspired by this prompt:

post/47877943287/i-am-never-going-to-write-this

**Summary:** Basically: "It's a variation on the Jealous Jimmy/Valet Green plot, but Green and Thomas are BFF from way back, when they worked in the same house (even if Thomas was 24 or younger when he started at Downton, he must have had a job before that.) They've stayed in touch on and off all this time (his non-erotic penpal!) When Green, who is straight, (eyes for Daisy would be a bonus) comes to Downton, they're all high-fives and 'Hey, bro!' and 'Remember that time we divided and conquered an entire shooting party by Sunday lunchtime?' and Jimmy, of course, is, 'Oh, no, Thomas does not have a better friend than me.' "

And jealous feely hijinks ensue. I have a feeling this is going to be a long one.

_**Note:**_Ok so here we go, my 1st attempt ever at fanfic, of any fandom. This is so much fun! Rated for eventual eventualities.

Any/all feedback on the writing is much appreciated!

_I'm so lonely I could melt/And be forgotten instantly/I love you very patiently/Honey, please don't finish me_

Robyn Hitchcock, "Birds in Perspex"

He couldn't figure out how to extinguish his love for Jimmy. It burned constantly, fed by aspects of Jimmy himself but also his own perception of Jimmy. Every time Thomas thought he had found and isolated and examined and ultimately crushed the spark that fed his love, he'd find another hot flare, that had been so constant it had gone unnoticed. Like when he felt, finally, that he had distanced himself from Jimmy's golden beauty, finding and focusing on tiny minute flaws until they filled his vision, he found himself suddenly endeared to those very flaws: Jimmy's awkward bluster when called out on something or missing a joke, his unctuous flirting with visiting ladies maids, the star-shaped scar below his ear, his surprisingly delicate feet, and his chipped left incisor. They all became marks that only guided him deeper into Jimmy and the apparently relentless depths of his appeal. Loving Jimmy was like walking on a carpet of embers, dangerous, edgy, so pervasive that he couldn't tell where it ended, what fed it, or even feel if it hurt, only the constant burn and thrill, the strangeness of it all.

Were they even friends, could they be, with such depths to Thomas's affections, with all the efforts it took to conceal them from Jimmy and crush them in himself? How could one feel so close to someone, so tied to their every word and gesture, and at the same time feel terribly and permanently separate from them? If you are ashamed to love someone, can a friendship still thrive? Thomas asked these questions of himself, often. And yet the rightness that underscored their talk and banter, the seeming kinship shared in a raised eyebrow or tossed-off comment that helped move the day along, their reconciliation when none was guaranteed or even likely, and most of all the feeling of truth that underscored how _charmed_and charming he felt in Jimmy's company, wasn't that real and wasn't that friendship? Or was this friendship something that fanned his love but was ultimately consumed by it, like fresh air spurring a housefire onto greater and greater destruction?


	2. Chapter 1

I wrote the Prologue and this chapter listening to Robyn Hitchcock and Grant Lee Buffalo's "Elixers and Remedies". It is highly recommended.

"Could you learn to read minds/ In the case of mine/ Do you read in the dark?"

Grant Lee Buffalo, "Honey Don't Think"

"…and Lord Gillingham is expected to arrive tomorrow. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow will of course be handling the arrangements for the various staff attending to our guests. You will likely have to share rooms—James, Alfred, please be aware you may be pulled from your duties to assist in bringing them up to speed and helping to acclimate them to the house."

Normally it irked Thomas to hear Carson smother their breakfast hour in work, not a bite taken in peace for oneself without the thought of them upstairs, but this morning he didn't mind. In fact, he found himself quite looking forward to this party, for all the effort it promised. It had been at least five years since he had seen his old mate Green face-to-face, now a valet to Gillingham and so arriving with the party guests. Longer still that they'd had more than a borrowed hour to catch up. It had been just as long since he'd had a sit-down with _any_ of his old mates, who knew him before the war, even before Downton, and also knew ofhim, folks whom he could be easy with. There weren't many to begin, and fewer now; Conners was killed in France, cousin Geoff in Bombay for over a decade, and Ruthie just as long in the States.

Of course there was Jimmy now, who was beginning to truly know him and also_knew of_ him. After that awkward year of sidelong glances and silent self-recriminations, a surprisingly realistic friendship had developed. They now both sought out each others company and found they had much large and small in common, from shared tastes in books and music and film to a rather slanted way of viewing the world and an accompanying dry humor that often left Alfred wondering if he hadn't missed some essential part of the conversation. It was as though nothing terrible had ever been between them; not Jimmy's revulsion or accusation or aggression, or Thomas' brazenness or shame or his inverted and persistent desire. In some ways it was as though that singular evening, and all that had gone on six-months hence, had never happened.

One way, in particular, was that Thomas's nature, while now known, was never acknowledged between them. The dreadfully silly and occasionally sad triangle of Daisy-Alfred-Ivy (often a rhombus when Jimmy was pulled into it) made amusing conversation, especially from Jimmy, who had a knack with voices and turn of phrase that was uncanny. Even speculations about Lady Rose and, well, take your pick, or Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, or Mrs. Patmore and the new dry goods merchant made it to the table where they played their cards and argued over current events. But Thomas, of course, never spoke a word of his own heart, not that part of it, and Jimmy never broached the topic of his own fancies, past or current. Thomas couldn't help but feel that if he were not himself, in this one fundamental way, then truly all their cards could be laid out and come into play, so to speak, that their friendship could be not just entertaining, interesting, a bit thrilling even, but also _easy_.

He sometimes felt he could count on his one good hand the number of times he'd felt at ease in his life, but some of those few had been back at the Townsends, with Green. He thought of late night conversations, some wine, all topics open, speaking openly, relaxed and without the weight that could settle any moment between him and Jimmy. It has actually been years. As much as looking forward left him with a tightness in his chest, he couldn't help but look forward to seeing Green again.

—

The day passed in a flurry of activity, a harbinger for the weeks to come. By the time they sat down to their own dinner, quiet "please pass the potatoes" and "thank yous" were all the weary staff could muster for conversation. Except, of course, for Mr. Carson, who took off right where he left at breakfast, running through the tasks accomplished and the tasks remaining.

"And the rooming assignments Mr. Barrow? I don't believe I saw the cots being brought into the men's quarters, and our guests are expected to arrive in less than a day now."

"Yes, that's last on the list, I was waiting to confirm the final count. We have those spare rooms but still Alfred, James, and myself will need to double up."

At that a heavy silence landed. Mr. Carson's brows lifted and drew back like started colts, and even Mrs. Hughes and the Bates' came out of their tired reverie to stare at him. As Alfred cast an awkward glance at Jimmy, whose gaze was suddenly riveted to his mashed peas, Thomas paled and, chastising himself inwardly a thousand times, quickly amended his statement.

"By that I mean, of course, that Alfred and James will have to temporarily return to sharing a room, Misters Wright and Kane will share the vacated room, with Misters Lewis and McDunn in the spare, and Mr. Green can room with me. We'll bring the cots up before turning in tonight, no mistake"

The silence dissipated and Mr. Carson's eyebrows gentled. The conversation soon returned to cots and tasks and peas, followed by Thomas, Alfred, and Jimmy distributing the cots and collecting bedding as Anna and Bates made their goodnights.

Thomas felt like his whole heart was trapped in one huge sigh. That's what it was like now: days and weeks could pass where he felt regular, even better than regular, what with the newfound camaraderie among the staff now that O'Brien gone, and with him still here and elevated in status above Bates even, and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes actually seeming to attend to his opinion and benefit from his skills…and then with a few words he was reminded, again, that underneath it all he was separate from the others and even his best behavior could never undo that.

Sadness and anger felt mundane at this point, but they rose up regardless. Whereas before one would have fed the other, eventually leading to action, to words, conflict, retaliation, _something_, now Thomas tamped them both down equally. He surprised himself with the realization that all those years snarling out at the world had felt very much like he was doing something, like he might make some impress on those around him, but in fact he had been mistaken: he had been doing more of the same. _What good had ever come of it?_

Nowadays Thomas felt a needling anxiety at the thought of taking any but the most considered and parsimonious action. It has become too clear to him that, at some point, his judgement of others and of himself had veered off course. While naturally others could not be trusted, the realization that he could not wholly trust_himself_ was perhaps the hardest lesson to learn. Thomas let a bit of that sigh escape. It would be good to see his old friend Green again, and get a chance to reconnect with himself in the company of someone else whose perspective on him went beyond these walls.

By the time the days work had truly ended it was time for bed themselves. Thomas and Jimmy, always the last to retire, found themselves alone in the servants lounge, playing a fast game of patience and then a slower game of whist.

Thomas continued to play his own game of "put Jimmy off the pedestal". He didn't dare risk being caught sneaking a glance, so he kept his eyes to the table, to the cards and Jimmys hands. He found himself barely breaking even in this inner contest; every callous that marred Jimmy's fine musical fingers reminded Thomas of how they might feel against his own skin. The pronounced rough knot on the inside of his second finger revealed Jimmy, surprisingly, as a frequent writer, much like himself. His nails were well manicured, perfect really, save for a slight tear at the cuticle of his index finger, perhaps the result of the days heavy lifting. Again it only served to remind him that those lovely hands were real hands, not the stuff of fantasies but of the man sitting next to him, the man who chose, deliberately, to spend this hour of unstructured time with him, despite himself.

"I can't say I'm looking forward to sharing a room again with Alfred—I don't know what is worse, his snoring that could wake the dead or his mooning over Ivy that just makes me wish I were." Jimmy collected his third trick in a row with a grin.

"Sorry for that"—Thomas sent a glance across the table. "I don't know Wright and Lewis, but the devil you know is better usually than the one you don't. Kane snores his self. From personal experience you're better off with Alfred." Finally Thomas claimed a trick, stacking the cards aside. "McDunn is a sour sort and prone to dark moods. Like O'Brien, but less mannish," he finished dryly.

Jimmy snorted at that, his eyes flashing up briefly from the deck, crinkled in surprised amusement.

Thomas tried to focus on the unlovely sound, or the crow's feet waiting in the wings ten years hence, but he felt a familiar spike of pleasure, one that often accompanied these moments—most frequent during quiet hours by themselves—when he pulled a genuine reaction from Jimmy and felt, again, charmed and charming.

_God what am I doing? _He'd asked this of himself a hundred times. He counted his tricks with a grimace, and pushed them back to the center. _I don't care. _"You lead. Again."

"What about you then? Can't imagine you welcome sharing a room after so many years without."

Thomas hid behind his cards for a second, sorting them by trumps and rank. He listened for any signs of a double meaning, but sensing nothing he responded at face value.

"I don't mind. Green is an old mate of mine—I knew him from my first days in service. I expect it'll be quite fun, actually, to bunk with him again. We were hallboys together, if you can believe it."

"And you've kept in touch all this time? That's a trick." Jimmy finished his play. "It's hard to think of you ever being a hallboy, even a footman."

"Well I was. It was in London, the family stayed there almost always. Green's a year older than me, but his family had been in service for generations, see, when I knew nothing of the kind save from books and newspapers. Took me under his wing right away when he didn't have to, and kept on after I left."

Thomas swept the cards into his hand and shuffled the, continuing,"Not always the best correspondent, but then I make up for it, and he's been abroad these past few years. He's a right funny bloke, you'll like him, everyone does." He felt a tick of pride to say that so confidently, knowing that his mate would only make him look better among the others.

"Sounds a bit like Alfred—I'm surprised to hear you are such bosom mates."

Was that consternation in his tone? Thomas chanced another look at Jimmy's face.

"Well, for one, when he's funny he means to be, unlike Alfred where it's in spite of himself, or because of himself. You'll see, he's the kind of folk you can't help but get on with—and believe me I tried at first. But he's half American, and not from the North, they're more open and easy than us. I don't mind it, I'm looking forward to a friendly face."

Jimmy's hand, reaching towards the cards he'd been dealt, slowed.

"Not that I don't have that here, not at all, " Thomas stumbled a bit over what underscored his wording, pushed to elaborate further by a sudden twinge of nerves.

"If you stay in one place long enough, and in service, like I have, eventually you feel like you have seen everyone and they you. But it's work and it's also a show, upstairs and below. You live on top of each other and in their pockets, and all of that, but they're not friends and they're not family. You'll see, things get to feel fixed, you can feel fixed."

_That's not exactly it._ He felt an urge to smoke, and set down his hand to rummage through his pockets for his case as he continued.

"Maybe, I don't know you ever felt that with your family? When it feels like you are only there for them in one way, and you've no way to be anything else to them? It's like, you can forget yourself that there's more to you, that you've been not just always as you are now and that you will be something different in time." He took a deep drag on his cigarette, still hunting for the right words.

"I won't say being older is…but it is something, to know some for so long, from all sorts of times and places diverse. It's been awhile since any of my old mates and I have been in the same place is all. There's something, to have a lifetime go by, or seems like anyway, births and deaths, the war, new circumstances, cities, positions, illness and injury, and when you meet up again know that no matter what has passed, you'll be recognized right off, still, and get an open hand." Thomas snubbed out his cigarette and picked up the next trick. His luck has turned at the last moment.

"I've never heard you talk so much Thomas. You're almost gushing. I look forward to meeting the garrulous Mr. Green, then."

He felt like a bloodhound, scenting something off in Jimmy's tone, as he laid down another trump and captured the trick.

They finished up the hand—Jimmy ultimately winning despite Thomas's uptick in luck, making idle chit chat as they made their way to bed. Thomas let Jimmy have first use of the washroom, as usual. Taking advantage of the extra cot and the empty surface it provided, Thomas shook out his jacket and laid it on the bed, brushing out his uniform for tomorrow. The repetitive activity and gentle _surr surr_of brush on wool was soothing. His replayed the day, his mind hunting out mistakes, errors, slights, even as another, shyer voice tried to offer counter-arguments to each judgment of himself or others.

Sometimes Thomas found it absolutely _exhausting_ to be himself. Especially at the end of the day, still keyed up from work and the relentless presence of others. As self-conscious as he could be around Jimmy, the constant drone of being aware of himself receded in his company, replaced by spikes and valleys of self-awareness. He craved those dips, when he almost didn't feel present at all, and instead was a part of an us, a feeling of camaraderie that ornamented his days in a way he'd rarely felt with anyone else the house except perhaps O'Brien._ I wonder if she ever felt that way with me?_

He hung up his uniform, and straightened out Greens bedding. It was funny how even thinking about Green made Thomas himself feel more Green-like, more funny, more confident, more part of the world, like all good things were made for him. He looked forward to being a bit of Green around the others. But not just that, he remembered when they had shared employment, had been nearly inseparable for a stretch, he also felt more like himself, the best aspects, those he didn't feel the need to drag out and inspect nightly. With Green he was smarter, dryly witty, cocky in an easy way. Casting further, he recalled Ruthie. Sitting by her side, he remembered feeling intense, full of convictions, and protective of her, strong and trusted. Evenings with Connors meant discussions, literature and especially history. Through the lens of books they spoke freely, bravely, about love and desire and society, their hopes and dreams, in a way he had never dared outside of letters. His mind had felt hard and bright like a diamond during those times.

Thomas heard the washroom door click open, and a few seconds later Jimmy's door shut firmly behind him. _What does he see in me? What do I do for him? _He readied his toiletries, to wash off the remains of a long day and prepare himself for the one ahead.


End file.
